Contrary to popular* belief that can be partly blamed on a nasty rumor that originated somewhere in the Sahari Desert, I have not, as of yet, fathered any children. Yes, that’s right, folks, thanks to the concerted effort of myself and numerous (though not THAT numerous) women, I’m 27 and without children. Please please, hold your applause until the end.
Although, ironically, in order to achieve such a lack of responsibility in the present, I had to be extremely responsible in my past, it’s safe to say that I’ve never considered myself to be a responsible person. And so, it is with an extremely nervous tone that I declare to the world that in two days I will be the proud and skittish pseudo-owner of a beautiful and skittish black cat named Othello. I say “pseudo” because the permanent custody of Othello is yet to be determined.
You see, my friend, who for obvious geographic reasons pertaining to her childhood shall henceforth be called Montana Girl, has discovered that she does not have the time and energy necessary to give Othello the love and attention any pet needs. Yes, she’s THAT busy. And then, one day, when she determined that Othello was the equivalent of my kitty soul mate, it was decided that I would ultimately assume responsibility and ownership of said kitty. But first…
I have a roommate and I can’t believe I haven’t yet mentioned her. For obvious religious reasons, I’m going to call her The Virgin Mary. Well, you see, The Virgin Mary, when moving into our apartment, brought with her two very adorable and eccentric kitties named Sherbert and Shu-Shu, who, for the remainder of this blog will be referred to as Sherbert and Shu-Shu. Sherbert is old (as The Virgin Mary says, “age undetermined”) and has one fake eye; Shu-Shu is a SCAREDY CAT with a capital S and CAREDY CAT. They’ve all settled into the apartment nicely but a new cat could completely negatively disrupt their lives. And so, Montana Girl, The Virgin Mary, and I decided to have a Trial Run. We’d take Othello for about a week or so to see how he adjusts and to see how the other two kitties adjust and if everything works out, he’s mine. If things don’t work out, he’s the Humane Society’s. No pressure, right?
And so, two days from now is Day 1 of said Trial Run. And in 9 days, if all goes well, I’ll be a daddy. And I’m nervous. Really nervous. I’ve never cared for anything by myself. I’ve only ever cared for a living, breathing thing for a few hours at a time (in the case of my nieces), a few days at a time (in the case of my roommate’s kitties), or with the assistance of my family (in the case of my childhood dog). Never with the buck stopping at me. Cousin J’s recent fish trauma only intensified my fears. What if something goes terribly wrong? What if Sherbert eats Othello? What if Shu-Shu goes insane? Now I’m the scaredy cat.
*In this instance, “popular” is used loosely if only because it’s untrue.
Benchly'sword 